The Scoundrel. Lisa Plumley

or consternation, she couldn’t tell. “He has only to look at a woman and her skirts fly up.”

      “Really? Well. That would be inconvenient for dancing, now, wouldn’t it?”

      “Yes. It would.” Wearing a dark look, Daniel finished his ale. He set his cup beside hers. “Behave yourself. Sit down.”

      “If I do, will you tell me what scandalous things happen when you look at a woman?”

      “That grin of yours is not very wifelike.”

      “That doesn’t answer my question.”

      For a long moment, he only gazed at their wedding festivities, probably lamenting the day he’d been born a relation to so many scoundrels. Then he lifted his suddenly somber gaze to hers.

      “Doesn’t matter anymore. Because none of those things will ever happen again.” With a heavy sigh, Daniel stood. “How long will it take you to say your goodbyes? It’s time we collected Eli and started home.”

      For a woman who was supposed to make a convenient wife, Sarah had so far proved herself anything but, Daniel reflected as he strode homeward. First she’d shown up inconveniently beautiful for her own wedding. Then she’d ordered him to kiss her, gotten tipsy and volunteered to dance with his idiot cousins. And now…

      “You cannot have lost your own shoes.” He frowned at her, disbelieving. “’Tis like leaving behind your ears.”

      “I have, Daniel.” She shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”

      “I suppose you can’t explain your mother’s sudden interest in corralling Eli for an overnight visit, either?”

      Sarah blinked up at him with what he’d swear—if it weren’t impossible—was a coquettish gaze. “I can’t help it if Mama wants to be better acquainted with her new grandson. Or if she believes a bride and groom should spend their first night alone together. What should I have done? Refuse her?”

      “Yes.” He set his jaw. “I’ll not be beholden to anyone. Especially not family.”

      “‘Not family’? Don’t be silly. My family lives and breathes for helping other people.”

      “For meddling, you mean. No need to put too fine a face on it. I’ve known the Crabtrees as long as I have you, remember?”

      “Then you ought to understand they only have the best of intentions at heart.”

      “Intentions change.” Darkly, Daniel shifted Sarah in his arms. When she’d lost her shoes, she’d insisted he carry her home. Fortunately, he was more than strong enough for the task. “So does your size. Damnation, woman. When I used to toss you up to that old tree we climbed, you were light as a feather.”

      She gave him a mulish look. “I was only ten years old.”

      “As I recall, you didn’t mind walking barefoot then, either.”

      There’d been more than one time Fiona Crabtree had accused Daniel of being a poor influence on her daughter for that very reason. And others. She’d claimed he was turning meek little Sarah as wild as an Indian, and unladylike in the process.

      Reminded of that now, he peered curiously at her lace-frothed form. By accident, his gaze nearly went to her bosoms. They rose cheerfully from her bodice in a way he couldn’t quite countenance. Now that he noticed it, Sarah didn’t seem especially lacking in female attributes. Even if they were usually shrouded in ugly dresses. Smugly, he decided he hadn’t been such a poor influence after all.

      “I’m not so very heavy, Daniel. But you are getting on in years, you know. Nearly twenty-eight. Perhaps your advanced age is making you weaker. Too weak even to carry little old me.”

      He grunted a denial. If he didn’t know Sarah to be the gentlest, most sensible of creatures, he’d have sworn she was trying to bait him. Just in case, though, he flexed his arms.

      There. Let her see the kind of man she’d married.

      “Goodness!”

      That was better.

      “Do your arms hurt? You seem to be straining to carry—”

      He gritted his teeth. “My arms are fine.”

      “If it would make you feel better, we could send for your cousin Nathan to carry me home.” Solicitously, she patted his shoulder. “I’m sure he’d be willing.”

      “Maybe. But you wouldn’t be.”

      She stilled, staring up at him. “I wouldn’t?”

      Why did she look so startled? So…hopeful? “No. You’re far too sensible for the likes of Nathan. You’re practical, Sarah. Once you find your shoes, I expect you’ll make a fine and loyal wife.”

      She snorted. “You make me sound like a hound dog.”

      “Dependable, too.”

      “Or a trout!”

      Now that just didn’t make any sense at all. “You’re not nearly so slippery as a trout.”

      Teasing, he squeezed her in demonstration. She laughed and squirmed against him. To Daniel’s relief, no strange, unexpected feelings assaulted him in response—no revelations of Sarah’s curvaceous figure or long, feminine limbs. Clearly he was cured of whatever malady had assailed him before.

      Arriving at his house—their house—he stomped up the steps. On the threshold, he set down Sarah and opened the door. For some reason, she only stood there.

      “What’s the matter? The door’s open.”

      She slanted him a meaningful, if completely undecipherable, look. A look as cryptic as any Daniel had received from a cardsharp over the gaming table. Frowning, he peered past her. The path looked about as clear as it ever did, barring a few mislaid shoes and some of Eli’s playthings.

      “I’m barefoot,” she said. “I’ll get a splinter.”

      “If you do, I’ll pry it out. I’ve got a pair of blacksmith’s tongs handy someplace.”

      Sarah seemed unimpressed by his practical suggestion.

      “Carry me over the threshold, Daniel.”

      “Why? It’s four steps, maybe five at the most. You’re an able-bodied woman. I’ve seen you corral three hooligans by the ear and drag them inside the schoolhouse all by yourself.”

      She didn’t move.

      He searched for more proof. “I reckon you can throw a baseball nearly as well as any man in the Morrow Creek league.”

      A gasp. “You swore you’d never tell anyone about that!”

      “I haven’t. I’m the one who taught you to do it.” After she’d pestered him endlessly when he’d joined the league himself. “But you’re no weakling, and we both know it.”

      She crossed her arms over her middle. Arched her brow. “All I know for certain is that I begin to believe I’ve married the weaker McCabe. Next thing you know, I’ll be wielding your blacksmith’s hammer myself to spare you the exertion.”

      Enough was enough. “Fine.”

      He scooped her up in a flurry of lacy skirts and girlish squeals. Befuddled but determined—and slightly more deafened than he’d started out—Daniel carried her the few steps inside the house. He stopped with her still in his arms.

      His burly, brawny, hammer-wielding arms. Blast it.

      He glanced downward, keeping his expression fierce. His new bride needed to know that this order-giving of hers was a wedding-day exception. It would not be an everyday occurrence. He was the master of his own household.

      Opening his mouth on a warning to that effect, Daniel gazed at Sarah. At the shining look on her face, the stern